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Apparently spending a decade working toward one goal wasn’t self-love.
“Furthermore,” Dr. Nance had continued, even though I wanted to tune him out, “hurting yourself in order to win a competition is a form of self-hatred.”
That’s what I’d been working on and that’s what Ciaran meant when he asked me what I’d been chasing. He’d wondered what was missing in my life. Turned out I wasn’t chasing anything. I was running toward anything that could help me avoid confronting what was missing in my life.
The authentic me. The real Matthias Vaulteneau. Son, brother, boyfriend, addict.
There were days where all I wanted to do was climb into bed and avoid the world.
And sometimes Ciaran let me.
Other times he didn’t. He’d climb in after me and then make me get up and eat and we’d go swim in the ocean until I let the tears fall as he held me tight and tighter still, our feet paddling beneath the water.
Everything was going to hurt before it got better.
And it was getting better.
Meeting Ciaran’s friends was honestly one of the highlights of my year because Ciaran got to be surrounded by everyone he loved, which included me. The guys from the swim team were whooping and hollering near the DJ booth while Ciaran’s Vegas friends jumped to the beat of the music. Even Franky was having a good time. Half of the team were flat-out in love with her.
Life was good.
So when I was dancing up against a sweaty Ciaran, lost in my own thoughts on how I couldn’t wait to give my boyfriend his birthday gift when we were alone tonight, I wasn’t eager to turn around to see who was tapping me on the shoulder.
The music was loud, the strobe lights brilliant against the night sky, and all I wanted to do was immerse myself in the scene.
But when that hand impatiently cupped my shoulder to spin me around, the instant smile on my face couldn’t conceal just how thrilled I was to see the man standing before me.
“Dante!” I all but shouted as my older brother swooped me into a huge hug. He had Dad’s coloring and height with dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a strong jaw that everyone drooled over. People who thought I could be a model obviously hadn’t met Dante.
He used to be a swimmer like me but had instead taken up running on a treadmill in his office due to all the stressful hours he worked. He was making a name for himself as the CEO of Inferno Industries, but I wondered if he could use a break. Maybe he’d stick around for a little bit.
“’Sup li’l brother,” Dante said with amusement in his voice as he let me go. He looked jet-lagged and would probably crash in the big house soon, but I was excited that he’d made an appearance, even if briefly.
“Glad you could make it!” I yelled over the music.
Dante’s eyes flicked to Ciaran, who’d wrapped his arms around my waist to see who I was talking to.
Given the heat and all the dancing we’d been doing, we were both shirtless and shoeless. His cactus-print board shorts were wet and delectably molded to his thighs due to his jumping in the pool two songs ago.
He smelled of sweat and soda, and of course chlorine, the permanent perfume for all swimmers. I was already dreaming about peeling off those shorts and dragging Ciaran into a cool shower before bed tonight.
Dante offered his hand to Ciaran, who took it. “I’m Dante, Matty’s very handsome and very successful older brother.”
“Dear God, it runs in the family,” Ciaran said with a laugh, shifting to stand side by side with me. He slung one arm over my shoulder…this was Ciaran’s form of casual possession as well as one of protectiveness. “I’m Ciaran. Thanks for coming to my birthday party.”
“Well.” Dante arched an eyebrow. “It’s not every day my brother’s boyfriend-slash-stepbrother turns eighteen.” Dante’s voice was edging on sardonic and haughty.
It wasn’t like Dante actually cared. He knew Ciaran and I were seriously dating and that no one we cared about batted an eyelash.
Only Sal, the paparazzo who followed me like a hawk, liked to dramatize the situation by snapping Ciaran and me surfing or shopping or going out to dinner, and then comparing it to photos he’d take of me and Zoey at a movie premiere. Sal coined it “The Billionaire Son’s Love Triangle,” which apparently got a lot of clicks. Kinzy told Ciaran, who told me, that there was already fan fiction written about it. “And you know you’ve made it cultural mainstream,” Ciaran had said, “when people write fan fiction about you.”
Dante, on the other hand, just liked riling people up to see what they’d do.
I was actually a little nervous to see how Ciaran responded.
“Easy there, cowboy,” Ciaran said with a friendly smirk. His bright blue eyes sparkled. “This is a make-up party. My actual birthday was two months ago.” He pointed up to the second-floor balcony where Theresa stood with Dad, watching the festivities. “My mom’s over there if you want to talk to her about it or file a complaint or whatever.” I hid a smile behind my hand. “But you should do it now, before the fireworks. She plans to retire for the night after that.”
The expressions flitting across Dante’s face were something to behold. He went from looking shocked to pissed to downright mystified.
